


like an itch under my skin

by Spikedluv



Series: Missing Scene 'Verse [1]
Category: V (1983)
Genre: Community: smallfandomflsh, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spikedluv/pseuds/Spikedluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mike saw Ham again, he promised himself that things were going to be different this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	like an itch under my skin

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene from V: The Final Battle, Episode 2; previous Mike/Ham mentioned. Written for Small Fandoms Flashfic using prompt #11: Time.
> 
> Written: June 11, 2011

It had been a long 24 hours and Mike Donovan knew he should be getting his rest now, while he could, but he couldn’t settle. His brain wouldn’t turn off, and his body felt restless.

Their mission to expose the true nature of the Visitors had been a success, but it was a Pyrrhic victory at best. They’d lost Julie to the Visitors during their escape, and who knew what they were doing to her right that moment? Interrogating her, trying to get information about the resistance, or worse, attempting to convert her.

On top of that, the Visitors had rebounded from their apparent defeat the night before by re-taping the broadcast and claiming it as the true telling of what had occurred at the Los Angeles Medical Center, while calling the actual broadcast a terrorist hoax. It wouldn’t have been such a hit to their morale if Mike didn’t think that most people would believe the Visitors. People needed to believe that the Visitors were the benevolent creatures they claimed themselves to be, else they’d run gibbering into the streets as their worst nightmares came true.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, their headquarters had been discovered by the Visitors and they’d managed to escape just ahead of the combined Visitor and LAPD forces only because Ruby had called to warn them. It hadn’t been much, but it had been their home, their refuge for the past several months, and being driven from it, having to leave so much behind in the race to safety, had been a huge blow.

One positive thing had happened that day, however; Mike had taken steps to get Julie back. He’d spoken to Martin and laid out his plan, and now all he could do was wait while Martin did his part. Mike hated waiting; it made him feel so impotent.

Mike sighed. And then there was Ham Tyler. As much as Mike tried to keep his mind from wandering down that path, straying to thoughts of the other man, his efforts were futile. It had been so long since he’d seen Ham, Mike was still having trouble believing the proof of his own eyes. For the first couple of years Mike had expected Ham to show up out of the blue, as had been his M.O. in the past, but as the years went by Mike had actually begun to believe that he’d never see Ham again.

Mike had told himself that it was for the best, and set about doing his utmost to forget about Ham. He’d thought he succeeded, but he’d apparently merely buried those memories because they all came rushing back when he saw Ham standing there. Along with all the feelings he’d suppressed, denying their existence even when Ham had been an important (if infrequent) part of his life.

Mike tried to tell himself that there was nothing between them, not anymore. Too much time had passed, and he’d begun to think that maybe there could be something between him and Julie, even if war was never a good time to try and build a lasting relationship.

Which is probably why, as odd as it sounded, he and Ham had worked. Individually they were inert, and as different as night and day, but throw them together and, as a unit, they became as volatile as the situations they often found themselves embroiled in. It had led to some pretty spectacular arguments. And some pretty spectacular sex.

Mike swore. He didn’t need to be thinking about this now. _Couldn’t_ think about it. Too many people depended on him; he couldn’t afford to be distracted by Ham, or allow Ham to rile him beyond rational thought.

Ham had always liked to do that, say things that got under Mike’s skin, and Mike had always reacted without thinking, resulting in arguments that very nearly came to blows (and on one occasion did, with Ham sporting a magnificent black eye for the next few days) before they got each other’s clothes off.

Even sex had been a blood sport, neither willing to relinquish the top spot until they’d wrestled for it, often resulting in more injuries than an actual fist fight might have. Mike remembered fighting for the top even when he needed Ham to fuck him so badly he could _taste_ it, unwilling to give in until Ham had pinned his arms and forced his legs apart.

Mike moaned and reached down to touch himself. When he realized what he was doing, he forced his hand away. He was _not_ going to jerk off while thinking about Ham Tyler!

Since he couldn’t sleep, and he wasn’t going to give himself the relief his body was suddenly clamoring for, Mike decided to do something productive. He sat up and shoved his feet into the shoes sitting beneath his bunk as he pulled his shirt back on. Shoes tied and shirt buttoned, Mike grabbed his shoulder holster from where it hung beside the bed and slung it on. He automatically checked his weapon, and then shoved it back into the holster.

Mike tried to be quiet so he didn’t wake the others, but he could see that he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. He snatched up his jacket from the end of the bunk and headed for the front of the train car. Outside it was chilly, and he was thankful he’d thought to grab his jacket. Mike shrugged into it, and looked around. It was dark, so he couldn’t see much.

He should have done his recon before he lost the light, but he’d been too busy making sure everyone got settled in, and arranging the meet with Martin. When they’d returned to the abandoned movie set, Mike put as much distance between himself and Ham as he could manage. He met with Robert and the others, and laid out the plan to rescue Julie, and then he’d kept himself occupied by making sure everyone ate and had a place to sleep.

He’d been exhausted when he headed for the train car, certain that he’d be out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Instead his mind had raced, going over everything that had happened over the past day, each moment on repeat as he looked for ways he could have done something different, found a way to save Julie and made sure the Visitors had no way to spin the unveiling of John’s reptilian nature to their advantage.

And now he was out here, looking for a way to work off the unrest that plagued him. Mike knew that Ham had set sentries, so he wasn’t worried about the Visitors finding them. He might not like Ham – No, you just like being fucked by him, his mind supplied – but Ham was right about one thing, he was damned good at what he did.

Mike moved from building to building. There were no lights in them, as they didn’t want to attract attention, but touching them, stepping inside them and remembering to what purpose they had been put – Infirmary, KP, Communications – made him feel like he was on a more firm footing.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he started being able to make out the sentries – in the shadows of the bell tower of the church, on the porch that ran along the side of the western most building, beside an overturned wagon outside of town. All of them looking for plumes of dust that would indicate approaching vehicles, listening for the sound of a shuttle in the night sky.

Mike walked around to the back of the old saloon-slash-hotel and climbed the steps to the roof. His eyes probably weren’t needed, but since he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something useful. He crossed the roof, set his shoulder against the facade that rose high above the building, and settled in to watch.

“You’re making the sentries nervous.”

Every muscle in Mike’s body jerked, and he reflexively reached beneath his jacket for the weapon that lay snug against his side before the familiar voice registered.

Mike swore as he turned to face Ham. “Are you trying to get yourself shot?”

Ham just raised his eyebrows at that comment. Mike thought he should feel insulted that Ham didn’t see him as much of a threat. Ham walked over and leaned a hip against the railing, hooked his thumbs in his pockets, and looked out over the town and beyond. Mike settled back against the facade.

“I thought you went to bed,” Ham said after several very long minutes of silence.

“I did,” Mike said. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Ham nodded. “Worried about your lady friend?”

“Partly,” Mike admitted. “And would you please stop calling her my ‘lady friend’? That sounds so very 1950's or something.”

“What do you want me to call her, your girlfriend?” Ham said.

Mike wasn’t sure if he imagined the edge in Ham’s voice, or not.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Mike denied.

“You seem awfully eager to get her back.”

“Because she’s my friend,” Mike said, exasperated that Ham just didn’t get it. “And she’s our leader. But I’d feel the same if any one of our unit had been captured. It’s called ‘compassion’. Maybe you should look it up.”

Ham ignored the jab. “Your bleeding heart is gonna get you killed, and all your friends with you.”

“The good of the many?” Mike said, not even trying to hide his sarcasm. “We’ve been doing fine, so far,” he added.

“Right up until somebody you trusted gave away the location of your headquarters.”

“You know, nobody asked you to come out here. You can go back to wherever you came from any time now.”

“You’re right,” Ham said, “no one did ask me. I volunteered for this mission.”

Mike’s retort died on his tongue. He hadn’t expected that.

“Why?”

“Because I know you. I know you need someone to rein you in.”

Mike pushed off the facade and took a step towards Ham, and then he stopped. He turned his back on Ham and took a deep breath, willing himself to have some self-control. He was not going to start up right where they left off; that was over, had been over for a long time now.

“Never seen that before,” Ham drawled.

“What?” Mike said tiredly.

“You, exercising restraint.”

Mike forced himself to remain calm. He’d already promised himself that he wasn’t going down that path again, wasn’t going to let Ham rile him up. “Yeah, well, things change.”

“Not that much.”

Mike didn’t answer. He needed to get out of there, because there was no way this was going to end well if he didn’t. He started walking towards the steps at the back of the building.

“You telling me you don’t feel it?” Ham continued conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather. “All that pressure building up. You telling me you don’t need a release?”

Mike stopped and twisted around. “I don’t need _you_ ,” he said.

Ham didn’t say anything, just continued to regard him with a level gaze as if he was waiting for Mike to figure something out, and he had all the time in the world to wait while he did it. Mike couldn’t help it, the damn memories were there all the time now. He remembered how Ham would slide under his skin and itch and itch until Mike had to scratch.

Arguing and sniping at each other until one of them finally broke and took the other down. The kisses had been almost as vicious as a punch to the mouth, and he’d tasted blood, never sure whose it was until the adrenaline had run its course and they both lay spent, and covered in bites and scratches that had nothing to do with making love. Because they never had. Made love. It had never been about that.

It had been about this. Release. Nothing more.

Mike took two steps forward and swung. Ham easily blocked the punch.

“You’re getting soft, Gooder,” Ham sneered.

Mike brought his knee up, and while Ham was busy protecting his crotch, swung an uppercut into his mouth. Ham’s tongue darted out and probed the cut that had opened in his lip. He grinned at Mike as he tasted the blood oozing from the wound.

A flurry of punches and kicks later, Mike was favoring his right leg and had one arm curled round his ribs. Blood dripped into Ham’s eye from a cut on his forehead, and Mike was sure that he’d broken a finger. They needed to be in top condition to fight the Visitors; he shouldn’t be indulging in this childish display with Ham. And yet he couldn’t stop. There was something inside him urging him to take the blows, and to answer each one.

Ten minutes later it was hard to tell by looking at them who had taken more punishment. They were both breathing hard and limping. Mike thought his eye might be swelling shut. His knuckles were cracked and bleeding from where he’d caught them on Ham’s teeth. And he hoped to god he’d just sprained his ankle, and not broken it.

Just then his bad leg collapsed. Ham caught him before he hit the wooden roof, but he lost his balance and they both went down. Ham oofed out a breath when Mike landed on him heavily. Neither one of them had the energy to move, so they continued to lay there.

“I really don’t like you,” Mike said, almost resigned.

“Never stopped you before,” Ham said, his lips twisting up in a smirk.

“Do you ever shut up?” Mike asked.

The irony being that Ham rarely spoke; he was more the strong, silent type. Unless he was trying to piss him off, Mike’s mind added.

“Only if you make me.”

Mike made him. He tasted blood when the kiss broke open the cut. He lost himself in the taste of Ham, the feel of Ham’s tongue against his. Ham rolled them. He pinned Mike’s wrists to the roof and slipped his other hand between Mike’s legs. He cupped Mike’s hardness, squeezed him, and then tore at his waistband.

Mike moaned and struggled against Ham’s grip on his wrists, eager to hurry things along. Ham shoved his jeans down, and then turned Mike onto his stomach. Mike went up on his knees even as the thought crossed his mind that they didn’t have anything to . . . .

The thought died as Ham pushed a slick finger inside him. Mike didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed that Ham had come prepared, had known that it would come to this all along, had been so certain that Mike had needed this. Pleased, Mike decided when Ham’s finger brushed his prostate.

Mike changed that to annoyed when Ham chuckled in his ear in response to the moan Mike couldn’t bite back.

Then back to pleased when Ham added a second finger.

Ham pulled back so he could shove his own jeans down. He took his time, and Mike knew he was watching his fingers move in and out of Mike’s ass.

“I hate it when you do that,” Mike snarled. Or tried to. It was actually quite difficult to work up a head of steam when someone had their fingers in your ass.

“I know,” Ham said.

Before Mike could voice his irritation, Ham pulled his fingers out, teased the rim of Mike’s hole until Mike felt the plea to _please, god, will you just fuck me_ straining at his throat, and then drove both fingers back inside him. The sound of tearing foil was different – condoms had been difficult to come by in the field, and back then the health risks of not using one weren’t known – but the blunt head of Ham’s cock pressing against him was familiar. And welcome.

Mike tried to spread his legs wider, tried to open for it, and when Ham didn’t move fast enough, pushed back. They both groaned as the head of Ham’s cock was forced past the tight muscle, the length of him sliding deep inside Mike’s body.

“Jesus, Gooder,” Ham moaned into Mike’s neck.

Mike wanted to tell Ham to stop calling him that. That nickname had been from another place, another time. But all he could think about was the cock filling him, the warm breath on his neck, the fingers curling around his own hardness. Ham shoved his fingers into Mike’s mouth when he started getting loud, and Mike suckled them.

Mike struggled beneath Ham’s weight, trying to force him to slam into him harder, to thrust more deeply inside him. Ham refused to let Mike goad him into giving more than he thought Mike could take. As much as they’d slung barbed words at each other, and thrown the occasional fist, Ham had never hurt him this way. Not even when Mike had wanted him to.

Ham bit Mike’s shoulder, and scratched his sides, and pinched his nipples, but each touch brought him pleasure, and that much closer to the edge. When he came, it started in his toes, and when it was over, Mike felt as if he’d been turned inside out. He heard Ham grunt as he followed Mike over, but it was as if the sound came from far away.

Mike felt Ham’s hands on him, gently pulling out, carefully fixing his clothes, and then holding him.

“I’ve got you,” Ham said against the back of Mike’s neck.

Mike wanted to deny it, wanted to assert that he didn’t need Ham, that he’d never needed Ham, but Mike had the sinking feeling that he _did_ need Ham, that part of him always had, and, worse yet, always would.

“Gooder,” Ham sighed.

Mike growled, more irritated at his own feelings than at Ham. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“I know.”

Mike heard the smirk in Ham’s voice and thought that he should do something about it, but honestly, he was too comfortable to move. He would do something about it later. When he could move. When he couldn’t still feel the phantom slide of Ham’s cock in his ass, filling him up and fucking him so good.

Mike groaned. What the hell had he done? He hadn’t see Ham in years, and the first time he does, he’s on his knees in a matter of hours, letting Ham fuck him. Back to their old ways. He wondered how long it would be before Ham took off again, just like he’d always done. How long before Mike stopped looking for him.

“Shhh,” Ham said, though Mike hadn’t spoken out loud. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Or maybe he had.

“Get some sleep, Gooder.”

Yeah, right. Mike snorted. Like he was going to be able to fall asleep lying on the hard roof, his ass sticky with lube, his come drying on his dick and pulling at his hair.

The last thing Mike remembered was the soft press of Ham’s lips against the back of his neck, and his name whispered in a tone that might fool someone else into thinking that Ham had missed him.

The End


End file.
